“He’s looking for a cure, isn’t he? Your healer boyfriend?” She thought of how calm his voice had sounded, urbane, as always, and wasn’t certain if that had been an act or not. Healers were trained to have exquisite bedside manners. She’d corner him later, find out how serious it truly was, though she’d never heard of the False Death not being serious. This can’t be happening. Not to Daleina!
“He wanted someone I trust here with me while he looks for a cure,” Daleina admitted. “That’s why you were summoned. But I don’t want you in danger—”
Instantly, Arin said, “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”
“He wants you to monitor my symptoms when he can’t.”
Why me? she wanted to ask. Why not one of the palace healers? But she didn’t ask, because she didn’t want to be sent away. Daleina wanted me, whether she remembers that or not. “You’ve had symptoms?”
“Seven people died.”
“Oh.”
Daleina clasped her hands behind her back and stared out at the green as if it held all the answers. The sun still washed over her, bathing her in light, which glistened off the sparkles on her face and in her dress so brightly that it looked as if she were exuding light.
In as deadpan a voice as she could manage, Arin said, “Most people when they get sick just sneeze a lot. You’re such an overachiever.”
Daleina snorted, which was almost a laugh, and then she was serious again. “If I black out, you must hide. Promise me that. Every room we go into, scout out where you’ll hide if it happens, and if I collapse, you must go there. And whenever I don’t need you . . . at all other times, I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
“Daleina, I don’t—”
“Promise. Or I call the guards and have them send you home.”
Arin stared at her. She’d never used that tone with her. She sounded . . . well, like a queen. Arin didn’t like it. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Say it.”
“I promise.”
Daleina’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what the right thing is to do. Do I warn people, so they can be prepared for the blackouts? Or do I not, so they don’t panic? It would be different if I had an heir. I’d abdicate in an instant.”
“You can abdicate? I thought queens—” Arin stopped. A queen could abdicate, yes, but she couldn’t abdicate and live—the spirits would hunt her down, and she’d lack the power to defend herself. Even if she had the protection of the new queen, she’d be in constant danger. Eventually, the new queen’s control would slip, or she’d die or become distracted, and the spirits would reach Daleina. It had happened before. There were songs and tales about past queens who had tried to abdicate and live out their lives in peace—all of them had failed. Every single one, dead within a year. It couldn’t be done. She’s serious about this, Arin thought. She truly believes she’s . . . She’s truly sick. Suddenly, Arin felt like hitting something, and she never felt that way. She was kind to small children and irritating animals, as well as irritating children and small animals. She was patient with even the most exacting of customers who came into the bakery, including Mistress Millia, who requested cream-puff pastries without cream and then complained when the fluff collapsed, which of course it did when you bit into one. “You can’t tell them.” There would be panic, especially without an heir. But if there was an heir . . . “He’ll find a cure. You can’t abdicate before Hamon finds a cure.”
“I’ve told my champions to accelerate the training process. They’ll be presenting their candidates to me soon, and I will choose heirs in a month.”
“Then Hamon had better work quickly,” Arin said.
Daleina nodded, but it seemed more of a polite acknowledgment than actual agreement.
The sun was beginning to shift, and the leaves at the top of the canopy created shadows on the balcony. Side by side with her sister, Arin watched a spirit spiral up toward the sun and then zip along the tops of the trees. Daleina spoke again. “So, Daddy’s building birdhouses?”
“Fancy ones.”
“And Mother’s all right with this?”
“She says there are worse hobbies he could have.”
Daleina’s lips quirked. “Probably true.”
“Definitely true. Did I ever tell you about our neighbor, the one who knits sweaters for her pet squirrels?” Arin dove into an elaborate, mostly true account of their neighbor’s antics, growing more animated in her description until at last Daleina let out a faint laugh, and Arin felt as if she’d won a victory.
For the moment, at least.
Chapter 13
Mittriel, the capital city of Aratay, was teeming with people, scurrying everywhere, like squirrels preparing for winter. Navigating a bridge that was wider than the entire market of Everdale, Naelin and her children barely fit between the crowds. If Alet and Ven hadn’t been with them, clearing a path, she was certain they’d be at a standstill. Or cowering in a corner somewhere, she thought. Erian and Llor were on either side of Naelin, clutching her hands, like burrs attached to her skirt. They gawked at everyone and everything.
“It’s all so . . .” Naelin tried to find a word that would sum it up and failed.
“Colorful?” Ven offered.
“Yes.” Every inch of every tree was carved or painted, and every branch was draped in ribbons and signs, pointing to various shops and restaurants. Bridges crisscrossed both above and below and were clogged with men, women, and children who were all as brilliantly decorated as the trees. Out in the villages, everyone wore brown or green to blend into the forest, but here . . . “I didn’t know it was possible to make dyes so very . . .” A woman walked past her with a garish orange bonnet that attached to her sleeves with multicolored beaded strands. The beads jingled together as she walked. “. . . orange.”
“She’s wearing a pumpkin on her head,” Llor whispered as he stared.
A few of the people stared back at them. Naelin was aware of how bedraggled they all looked after several days of travel, even though she’d scrubbed all their faces every time she found a stream that wasn’t occupied by a water spirit. Her dress, which she’d sewn herself, felt like rough patchwork, compared to the elaborate outfits worn by the capital citizens.
“Mama, we aren’t sparkly enough,” Erian said.
Alet patted Erian on the shoulder. “You’re just fine. They’re the ridiculous ones.”
Naelin shot her a grateful look. She appreciated Alet’s kindness to all of them, especially when she felt so very small, brown, and drab, like a sparrow who fell in a mud puddle. “It is a bit intimidating,” Naelin admitted. “I feel like I’ve been thrown into a coop of peacocks.”
“Reasonably accurate,” Ven said, and the smile he threw her felt like a lifeline. “You’ll either get used to it or eternally hate it.” He stopped and pointed. “That, though, is a sight that I’ll never get used to and never hate.” They were approaching from midforest, where the bridges merged together into a wide painted bridge that led into the palace gates.